


fairy lights (and the wires that connect me to you)

by vagarius



Series: objects (and this soft little thing we share) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Passive Angst, Winter Break, but seriously i dont know what i just wrote, i forgot the word to describe what tsukki is feeling argh, is that a thing?, or is it just melancholy?, sorta - Freeform, what even is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vagarius/pseuds/vagarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cold, maybe. Probably. Kei doesn't really feel anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fairy lights (and the wires that connect me to you)

**Author's Note:**

> I usually wait a day after I finish to reread then post, but whatever. Too late.

There's money on the ground, a single paper bill, halfway to soaked in a puddle that failed to reach the storm drain. He feels, distantly, the urge to pick it up, and also a sense of pocketing it. Instead, he stares, as if to confirm that, _yes, Kei, what you are staring at is indeed a paper bill,_ and, _no, you don't have a very firm hold on simple thought processes._

He stares a little longer, perhaps garnering the attention of curious passersby (who should probably be concerned by the man staring at the ground blankly in the middle of winter, or at least annoyed by the kid blocking the shoveled area of the sidewalk), and proceeds to squat down, pick up the bill, and walk into the first store he sees. He puts the bill into the tip jar then walks out.

His hands are wet and his neck is cold. He keeps walking.

 

"You should have gloves. And a scarf." Kageyama pauses. Wrings his glove-clad hands. "It's cold."

"I can see that," Kei snaps, and it's rigid like ice, like the weather, and he doesn't actually care enough to do anything about it. "It's nice to know you care about us lowly peasants, King."

Kageyama scowls a little darker before returning to his usual resting-scowl, which used to piss Kei off, but now is only mildly irritating. He's accepted that Kageyama can't change his face, or his social ineptness, or his relatively gross eating habits. Kei enjoys the lack of change, really, not that he'd ever admit it. It's something he's come to associate with Kageyama, which is probably why running into him feels so much like an unpleasant surprise.

Kei had expected Kageyama to rush home after practice, elated from the prospect of winter break. For him, it probably meant he could practice even more. He's a volleyball idiot, after all. And he _had_ raced out of the clubroom, loud as ever, and Kei had deemed his assumption true. Yet here he was, walking around in the cold, just like... well, just like Kei himself. The thought is vaguely concerning.

"Why are you out here?" Kei asks, because he can, and because he's not a complete asshole who would leave his teammate alone in the cold when he might be locked out or lost or something equally stupid because he's an idiot.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Kageyama says rather than answering, and, right, Kei's the one without gloves or a scarf. Right.

"I don't feel like going home." Kei isn't sure what he looks like right now, but there must be something in his expression that Kageyama can sense, because he doesn't pry, or question, or anything of the sort, and simply looks ahead at the path in front of them.

"Oh," he whispers, like wind, like dust.

Like snow.

 

He realizes, sometime later, after the walk and the aimless wandering and the effort it took to go home and climb into bed, that seeing Kageyama Tobio in the cold on the cusp of winter break wasn't all that surprising or unpleasant; it was different at best and alarming at worst, not that Kei gives it much thought.

He can feel himself slipping, his thoughts melting, and his limbs feel like goo at his sides. It's been there since practice, this sensation, and he doesn't know what to do with it, never has. It comes whenever time slows, whenever school or volleyball or useless knowledge fails to keep him busy, and this is why he doesn't want to go home, sometimes, because he finds that all he can do is lay in bed as he turns into something akin to a deflated helium balloon.

The break keeps him free, and the snow keeps him in, and they both serve to slow time even more, which isn't helping the situation at all. Assuming that the situation exists. He's not sure. He's deflating. He thinks certainty is hard to find. Then, he gets a text.

_From: Kageyama Tobio_

_would you want to meet up over break_

Moving his arms is like moving a mannequin; his hands have the touch of feathers. The screen of his phone looks unfamiliar and foreign.

He remembers scowls and walks and royalty. It's comforting.

_(yeah, sure)_

 

"Do you ever," Kei says, absently. "Do you ever feel like there's nothing you feel like?" The bench is solid under his thighs and behind his back. There's a small pile of snow at his feet. His ankles are damp. He should've worn boots.

"Um, I don't think so, no." Kageyama is scowling, like always, but this particular scowl speaks mild concern. Kageyama shouldn't be concerned, Kei thinks, he should be listening, and maybe wondering why Kei is telling him this, especially since Kei himself is wondering why Kei is telling him this. "Why are you telling me this?"

And maybe Kei's behavior _is_ a little concerning, because he is suddenly torn between laughing and attempting to become one with his little pile of snow, and he also wants to answer Kageyama, he really does, but he doesn't know how to answer a question he doesn't know the answer to, at least not seriously. And he must look incredibly lost or constipated or something, because Kageyama is scowling in a way he's never seen Kageyama scowl before, and he's seen a lot of Kageyama-bred scowls.

"Why are you scowling at me?" Kei asks. He thinks it's a reasonable question.

Kageyama blinks. "It's just..." Kageyama blinks, again. "You just seem a bit off."

And Kei isn't torn anymore, he just wants to laugh, so he does, and he answers, "Of course I'm off, I feel like there's nothing I feel like."

Kageyama sinks further into the bench, and that's that.

 

"I'm scared," Kei breathes into the phone, "Or, at least, I should be, I think. Maybe. I'm not sure." He's inside, now, under the covers of his too-small bed, but his fingers feel numb, and he can't discern the curl of his toes. It feels like his organs are flopping around, useless, under his skin. It's concerning, probably. He should probably be concerned.

Kageyama sounds like he just woke up, and maybe he did, or maybe that's just how he sounds over the phone. It's not like it's late, or anything. It's early. It's 2 AM. That isn't late.

_"Tsukishima?"_ he whispers, like static, like snow. _"What'd you mean?"_

Kei thinks about that, for a little of a lot, and realizes he doesn't know. There are too many thoughts and not-feelings crashing against his skull, dulling the corners and denting the edges, for him to know.

Kageyama's voice is clearer, now, like fog strung with fairy lights over a black-ice track, but Kei can't figure out what he's saying.

"Come over?" Kei interrupts, softly, unplugging the fairy lights and sitting in the damp of leftover fog.

There's no agreement, no _okay_ or _sure_ or _where the hell do you even live_ , just the hum of a sleepy phone call and the _click_ to cut it off.

 

Kageyama walks into the room, sheds everything except his pants and shirt, and slides onto the side of the bed Kei isn't currently occupying. Kei doesn't remember ever being this friendly with Kageyama, or anyone, really, but the sentiment's nice, and the warmth is nicer.

Kageyama doesn't ask questions, so neither does Kei. Time's still slow, but it sticks to Kei a little better, the way water sticks to his skin, opposed to the way ice slips out of his ungloved hands. It's nice, where he is, here next to Kageyama. It's nice to know what he's feeling, and it's even nicer to know that what he's feeling is content.

He falls asleep to the slip of covers at his side.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda imagined them as third years in this?


End file.
